


Failure

by evrymeeveryyou



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Everybody's Tears, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, My tears, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 01:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evrymeeveryyou/pseuds/evrymeeveryyou
Summary: Not going into hypovolemic shock was overrated anyway.Jason grumbled to himself, trying to fix a bandage on his arm that had slipped away in a mangled mess produced by a mix of blood soaking the bandage and the inability of his other hand to stop shaking. His arm wasn’t even the wound that would kill him.The knife to the gut. Or the bullet in his shoulder. Those were the wounds that would probably kill him. The fucking army of assholes who jumped him were probably taking bets.





	Failure

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a new reader in this fandom, but it's the first time I've written for the Batfamily. Be kind--I haven't written fanfic since we all used to put disclaimers on the top. Now I feel old...
> 
> A huge thank you to the one and only Chibinightowl for beta reading this, convincing me to write a fic in this fandom, and just generally being an awesome human.

Not going into hypovolemic shock was overrated anyway. 

Jason grumbled to himself, trying to fix a bandage on his arm that had slipped away in a mangled mess produced by a mix of blood soaking the bandage and the inability of his other hand to stop shaking. His arm wasn’t even the wound that would kill him. 

The knife to the gut. Or the bullet in his shoulder. Those were the wounds that would probably kill him. The fucking army of assholes who jumped him were probably taking bets. 

Stupid of him to let his guard down, even if he was helping a kid. God knew what happened to that boy. He’d have to check on him when he made it out of his current mess. Make sure his little legs carried him fast enough. Decoy or not, he was too small to be a part of something like that.

The iron tang in the air wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but the weakness of blood loss nearly made him retch.

There wasn’t much he could do, and there wasn’t any getting out of this. The realization would make his heart beat even faster, if it hadn’t already felt like it was smashing against his ribs with every beat. 

No. Not in an alley. He would not die alone in an alley like an animal. He had an alternative, but he dreaded using it for this. He dreaded using it for anything. 

He dragged himself to his feet, his hand pressed to his middle as though he could keep the gush of blood from leaking through his fingers. He fumbled through his pockets, looking for the emergency call button he swore he’d never need, and pressed the button despite himself. 

Then he leaned against the alley wall and hoped that standing would keep him conscious long enough to stay in control. It didn’t. He couldn’t stay on his feet, and before long he was sliding down, fingers scrabbling at the craggy surface of the worn alley walls. Black was flitting into and out of his vision like curtains on the breeze and he shuddered when he heard the sound of a loud, raucous engine at the mouth of the alley. 

It was only then that he heard Oracle trying to rouse him through his helmet interface.

“How the hell did you tap into my helmet?” he growled, not because he was particularly angry at Babs, but because it was the only tone he could force his voice into. 

“You called me, Hood. Besides, you should be grateful I could reach you this way,” she said, all business. “Help is headed your way. Now you won’t be alone until it shows up.”

“I’m still alone,” Jason said, but his lips were numb and his head was swimming. “Always alone. He won’t get here in time. He never does.” 

“Now, how did you know I was sending B?” There was humor in her voice, a smile in the air, and it woke Jason right out of his stupor. 

“Fuck, no. You didn’t.” He shifted, struggling to pull himself back to his feet, and blood bubbled over from his wounds. How many gunshots had pierced his armor? Who had figured out the bullet-proof rounds that could even get through? He didn’t know. Wouldn’t find out tonight, anyway. 

Wouldn’t find out anything for a long time, most likely. Maybe not ever again. 

How many people had Gotham callously watched die? How much blood had her streets been fed? Jason wasn’t sure it would ever be enough. Gotham was a monstrous beast with a never ending hunger nothing could satiate, and she was feeding on him, greedily, once again. 

“Jay? Come on, answer me,” Barbara’s voice floated through the pounding of his blood. 

He tried for a response, but his vision was blacking over. Panic shot through his veins, but it wasn’t enough to rouse him out of the blurry mess of his head, just made him shaky, uncoordinated. His legs slipped out from under him, and he splashed ass-first into a puddle of his own blood. Fuck.

“I don’t feel so good,” he muttered into the air. Was anyone listening? No, who would be? Had he been speaking to someone? He seemed to remember…

The roar of an engine he knew better than he knew the back of his damned hand. But he didn’t remember the back of his hand at the moment, and the sound brought from him a mix of trepidation and joy that threatened to make him dizzier than the blood lost. 

A familiar pair of armored boots slammed against the pavement in front of him. 

“No, no, no. Not Arkham.” His lips were loose, dribbling his fears to mix with the blood on the ground, blood that stained his palms a rusty red and dirt black as he tried to crab walk away from the boots, only to smack his back hard into concrete. “He wouldn’t stop laughing. I don’t want to go back.”

Why was he here again? What happened? How had he ended up here, begging the Bat for something, anything, all over again. 

“Hood?” Batman’s deep voice resonated in the walls of the alley, reaching Jason’s ears from a thousand different directions. 

Jason cringed away from the sound. “Please. Please. Before the bomb.” 

Heavy hands rested on his shoulders, but he couldn’t see the face before him. All he could see was the glaring red of the bomb counting down. 

“Jay?” Bruce whispered. “There’s a bomb?”

“Three.” He took a deep, ragged, breath. 

He was dragged up, thrown over a shoulder like a rag doll, his wounds screaming at the movement. 

“Two.” Slam, slam, slam of those armored boots hitting the pavement. Jason jostled with every movement. 

He was going to save him this time. 

“One. Boom.”

But there was no boom. Batman’s running feet stalled. And Jason blinked and he was a full grown man, slung over his sometimes-ally, sometimes-enemy, sometimes-father’s shoulder, bleeding out and crying. 

“Jason?” Bruce whispered, his voice gruff and tight in a way Jason couldn’t remember ever hearing before. “Jay, is there a bomb?” 

“There was…” There was more to say, something that needed explaining, but his vision tunneled, and he was so, so tired. 

There was a bomb. 

But this time, Bruce had been there. 

#

Something poked at his arm, and Jason was ready to break it, whatever it was. It disturbed his nice, long relaxing…

His eyes shot open. 

That something poking at his arm? It was Bruce, stitching a wound. He’d always been a bit brutish about the whole thing, even if he was precise. 

“Where’s Alfred?” Jason asked, his voice rough from his long bout with unconsciousness. 

Bruce looked up at him. The cowl was gone, to reveal wide eyes the color of sea glass and a blank expression. It was his innocent look, the one he always used when he was shoring himself up for an argument. “He’s in London, visiting family.” 

“A shit time for me to get so banged up, then.” Jason tried to sit up, pushing his hand beneath him for some leverage. It gave out before Bruce had the chance to sweep it away. 

“Stop it,” he growled, but without the cowl, his heart didn’t appear to be in it. “You lost approximately 30 percent of your blood volume based on what I observed on the floor of the alley, the Batmobile, and here on this gurney. I’m running a transfusion and intravenous fluids which you need, and you will continue to receive. You’ve got six broken ribs, a stab wound to your abdomen that just barely missed vital organs, several deep lacerations on your torso and arms, a bullet wound in your thigh and shoulder, and hematomas on your torso and both knees. I don’t care what you think of me. You aren’t going anywhere like this. And if you try, I will sedate you.” 

Jason’s hackles rose at the command, but tensing his muscles made pain spiral through his midsection. He should try to leave, but he probably couldn’t and he didn’t particularly want to make the kind of fool of himself that would involve falling right over to the floor and flopping around like a fish. 

Instead, he decided he’d irritate Bruce until he left him alone. It was never a difficult objective, especially for him. 

“Well, that explains why I literally feel like I got hit by a truck. It sounds like I did.” He glanced down over the patchwork of stitches along his torso. “That one’s pretty grody. I’m guessing about an inch or two deeper and the Replacement and I could have been spleen sisters.” 

Bruce ignored him, choosing instead to hold his arm steady, so he wouldn’t flail around and gesture at anything anymore. 

“Alright, alright,” Jason grumbled despite himself. “I’ll make this easier on you.” 

Bruce grunted. “No matter how many times I patch you kids up, it never gets easier.”

Oh, hell no. They were not doing this...this emotional trip down memory fucking lane. “I guess practice doesn’t make perfect, then. Which sucks for you because you’ve sure had a lot of practice.”

“Jason,” Bruce ground out, and it was a warning, Jason knew by the tone of voice. He was wearing him down, and this was it. He would be more than Bruce wanted to handle, more than he could put up with, and he’d leave the cave. He’d leave the cave and leave Jason to clean up his own mess. 

He knew he would. It was exactly what he’d been trying for. 

“Shut up. Don’t ‘Jason’ me.”

Another grunt. 

Jason couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let Bruce do this. They couldn’t sit here like everything was fine between them, like they weren’t usually one sharp word away from drawing blood from each other. He couldn’t behave like a Robin. 

Not anymore. 

Too much had happened between them. Jason wished he could wash it all away, wished he could be clean in Bruce’s eyes. But he would never be the same kid Bruce somehow felt he hadn’t failed. 

“Why are you doing this?” Jason asked. “Why help me?”

Bruce glanced up at him, for what felt like an eternity, and in that time his eyes thawed from ice to the sky on a clear day. “Because I cherish every single moment I spend with my sons. Good or bad. Every moment you are here, I cherish.”

Jason sputtered a laugh, even as he felt a traitorous stab of warmth in his heart. “I’ve tried to kill you! I know you don’t cherish that. And after all you’ve done, you think you can still say that, and I’ll believe you? No, I’m sorry.” His eyes drooped as he spoke, the exhaustion of blood loss making him woozy and nauseated. 

Bruce snipped the ends of the thread, and set the scissors down on the surgical tray with a loud clunk. “Because I didn’t kill the Joker? Because Tim stepped in after you? Because I get sick of jumping through the hoops you kept expecting me to jump through to prove something I thought I’d proven in the time we worked and lived together?”

“No. Because you brought me back to Ethiopia.” He hadn’t even realized it was true until the words slipped free, and suddenly he was roiling with the anger he’d felt that day. That day, and every day for a few weeks after, as he woke up with his throat raw, his eyes burning, and his hands clawing at the bedsheets, dragging himself through what his sleep-self had believed was a smoke-filled warehouse. 

Jason watched the verbal bullet strike with precision. Bruce went pale, almost as pale as Jason was sure he looked. His eyes were hidden as he leaned to bandage the wound, but his jaw was locked and tight. And yet still, despite his obvious distress, he managed to grind out a response. “I don’t owe you an explanation for that.”

A response that Jason ignored. “Why did you do that, B? Why would you take me back there? Do you have any idea how that place makes me feel? What I see when I close my eyes when I’m here?” He cursed himself for the words that spilled from his lips, untethered. The medication. It had to be that. This was why he always refused pain medication. Because his tongue got loose and the armor over his chest thinned, and he said things he knew he would regret once the feeling wore off, things he normally kept in a lockbox in the back of his mind. 

Bruce didn’t say anything for a long time, even as he continued patching up Jason’s wounds. For most of that time, Jason believed he said too much, that he’d tracked mud all over the family tradition of wordless rage and repressed emotions. He wasn’t sure if he was okay with the outcome or not. 

Mostly, he just felt ragged and exposed. 

With his uninjured arm, he plucked at the sole white space on the bed sheet amidst the spots of blood red. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly two in the morning and the only reason this man was even here doing all of this was because he didn’t want his death on his damn conscience. 

After all, if Bruce ignored his call, he would know he was directly responsible for letting him die there in that filthy alley. Not like throwing a batarang, nicking his neck, and leaving him to bleed to avoid killing the Joker. Because Jason had still been able to get the hell out of there on his own and he had a life to save, however invaluable and unnecessary. Bruce kept people alive. Hearts pumping and lungs filling. The personal cost to himself didn’t matter. The personal cost to those who trusted him mattered even less. And if that living person didn’t have much of a life left anymore? 

Well, here he was. Being kept alive. 

Then all at once, Bruce sucked in a breath, hard enough that it sounded like a gasp, and spoke as though there had been no break. “Because I failed Damian. He was the only one of you I didn’t trust outright and I was gone for most of his time here. It was not going to be enough. It’s never enough time. But this was different. This—I needed more time, Jason. I wasted my time with him.”

“And the end between us felt like a good one? Or did you just love him more?” Jason’s brain was fogging up again, and he realized that while he’d been zoned out thinking about batarangs and blood stains, Bruce had upped the pain medication in his IV. 

Bruce grunted, and Jason rolled his eyes despite the way the motion made his world spin. He’d wanted his words to sound like a taunt, but they hadn’t. They had come out rough and jerky, his throat tightening as tears sprang into his eyes. And Bruce had responded to his vulnerability with a grunt. 

He pressed his hand to the bat in the center of Bruce’s armor and pushed as hard as he could in a final act of retaliation as sleep claimed him again. 

#

This wasn’t a nightmare. It struck him that he’d had so many so often lately, it was shocking not to be hurtling from one traumatic vision to another anytime he was conscious. 

Instead, he rested upon a perfect mattress, just cloud-like enough to feel comforting, and firm enough to be supportive. His head sank into the softness of the pillows that smelled faintly of lavender. Eyes heavy, his mind meandered through the drug induced fog as he took in the joyous scene before him. 

This was a dream, one of the most pleasant dreams he’d had in a long time. He was home, resting in his bed. The orange of the sunrise bled through the curtains, heat warming his chest around the bandages Bruce had...oh shit. Bruce.

Jason shot up and regretted the abrupt motion before he even got halfway there. A pained grunt escaped him, and it was enough to jolt the sleeping shadow in the corner out into the light. 

He found himself looking straight into Bruce’s startled gaze and he couldn’t handle it, couldn’t deal with the thought that he’d stayed here all night by his side, or worse, that he’d brought him up to his old room at some point last night, and he hadn’t remembered. His hands shook from the emotional onslaught, and he buried them deep under the blankets so Bruce couldn’t see. 

Rather than face another run-in with the Bat, Jason’s eyes danced anxiously along the objects on the surface of his old room, this museum of things he once was. They finally came to rest on a framed photo on his dresser--this unfinished life, this child, standing next to a father who had no idea what it was like to bury his son. Happy, staring at the camera with goofy smiles on their faces and Gotham Knights t-shirts--Jason’s hung loosely around him, while Bruce’s looked about ready to cut off circulation. He remembered that day. Free t-shirt day. Bruce wore his hat backwards, and Jason was reaching to fix it. 

“Stop embarrassing me, you dork!”

And then, all at once, Bruce’s deep, grim voice broke through the echo of memory. 

“I love you. I would have done it for you, if I’d known it was possible.” 

Jason’s eyes struggled to move away from the photo. He had to painfully yank them away, as though the past could protect him from what was coming. 

“Until you came back, I never would have imagined…”

Jason caught the glint of something in Bruce’s eyes, and he couldn’t believe that, wouldn’t, so he turned his attention to anywhere that wasn’t him. They landed on his hand where an IV line was taped. He considered yanking it out and jumping out the window just to escape the situation. The twinge of pain that rushed through his entire body at the thought wasn’t very reassuring.

“Others had come back, but they were metas or aliens. We were...painfully…” Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Ordinary?” Jason snapped, the first thing he’d said since he’d woken. His voice was scratchy and painful, his throat dry.

Bruce grimaced, even as he pulled his chair closer to the bed, and reached over to the nightstand to retrieve a glass of water with a straw. “Human. We were human. And that kind of thing doesn’t happen for people like us.” 

Jason sipped deeply from the glass, calming the burn in his throat. Another long silence. 

“I would have sold my soul to bring you back if I thought there was a chance. I still would.” 

His vision clouded, but this time it wasn’t blood loss or dizziness. He wanted to believe what Bruce was saying. God, he wanted to believe it. But nothing was more dangerous than hope, and Bruce made it so hard to believe in him sometimes. The Bat was easy to trust, but the man behind the monster? That was a whole different tale. 

“I nearly did sell my soul. I didn’t try to bring you back, but I did my damndest to join you.”

“That would have been a fucking waste, all things considered...” Jason tried for a joke, but his voice was shaky and thick, so it fell flat. He hated how damn dejected he sounded. 

“It would have, as it turns out. Because you rose again. Like a damn phoenix, and it’s so easy to forget that you can’t just burn through anything that hurts you.” Bruce’s voice was choked and strained. He scooted the chair closer. “You do such a good job of acting like you don’t care, sometimes I forget the things I say and do have any power over you at all.” 

“T-they do…” His voice was brittle. “It’s a goddamn weakness. Don’t act like you don’t know about it. You know everyone’s weaknesses.”

“No.” Bruce shook his head, almost jerkily. “That is my weakness. The way you let your pain motivate you, the way you never lose your fight, that is your strength.” 

Bruce’s hand found his on the bed and gripped it tightly. Then he grumbled in frustration, got off the chair, and seamlessly shifted to the edge of the bed so his other hand could reach to brush through Jason’s tangled curls. 

And just like that, Jason lost control of the dam. Stupid painkillers. 

Tears rolled over his cheeks, and he couldn’t look at him anymore. He couldn’t see his pain reflected in Bruce’s eyes. 

“I’m trying to get better. Be better,” he said, his voice thick with tears. 

“I know. You’ve made mistakes. So have I. If it didn’t burn us, we wouldn’t even be trying,” Bruce said. “And I am trying. I don’t agree with your methods. Maybe I never will. But you’re my son.” 

And Jason couldn’t believe that. Wouldn’t. “But I’m your biggest failure. I failed.”

“No.” He said it with such conviction that Jason had to look up, had to meet his ice-blue eyes. “Losing you was my greatest failure. You didn’t fail. You’re still here, and despite everything, you’re still fighting as hard as you can. So don’t tell me you’ve failed. You can’t lose a fight before it’s over, Jay-lad.”

And God, Jason didn’t really believe that, but it was damn nice to hear. And the idea that Bruce might believe that, that he might still think of him as a work in progress, and not written him off like some past experiment with a negative result? Well, that did something to him. 

He still had his views. And he wasn’t going to change them. Bruce and him would always disagree. But he was still worth it. Still worth this. And that just made the hitching in his chest deeper, the tears come down harder. 

And dammit, Jason hated pain medication. With a passion he reserved for the Joker. But at least it had gotten Bruce talking. And he’d liked what Bruce had to say. 

“Now, shove over,” Bruce grumbled. “It’s been a rough night. I wrenched a muscle in my shoulder, and it’s impossible to hug you from this angle.” 

A watery laugh escaped Jason, and he felt a long standing fear loosen its grip on his chest. With a groan, he slid over, gritting his teeth as his vision whited out for a moment. The bed shifted and a warm weight joined him. 

When he finally had control over the trembling and the searing pain in his abdomen, he forced a response through his lips. “Your bedside manner sucks the big one, B.”

“I never do anything by halves,” he laughed.

For a moment, the two exchanged an amused glance. 

“Did you just…?” 

“I did.”

Despite himself, a loud laugh escaped, one that had Jason grasping his gut.

“Ow, ow, ow!” 

Jason was surprised Bruce could hear him through his own booming laughter, but when he did, he tutted like a mother hen. Using some of that painstaking care he usually only granted toward vital evidence, he gently maneuvered him into a better position. Like he was a broken doll he hoped to repair. He wanted to scoff at it, or complain, but he just didn’t have it in him after everything, so he settled his head onto Bruce’s shoulder. 

Bruce pressed a kiss into his hair, inhaling deeply and tightening his arms around him. “You scared me, kiddo,” he whispered into Jason’s curls. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, his throat closing up, eyes filling with tears again. “I’m here though.” 

“And there’s still time,” Bruce states, but it sounded like a question. 

“There’s still time,” Jason agreed. 

He let his eyes slipped closed and, for the first time in a long time, allowed himself to hope.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Come holler about the Batfamily and just writing in general with me. I'm GeektasticJustine on Tumblr, and @justine_manzano on Twitter.


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